Once I’d passed through Culmore and was on my way to Muff, where the second border checkpoint used to be, I turned on the radio, just managing to catch the weather forecast on Highland Radio.

Heavy rain is expected all over Ireland tonight and tomorrow, particularly in the north-west where there may also be heavy winds. Possibly storm to gale force. Met Éireann have issued a red weather warning for counties Donegal, Sligo, Leitrim, Cavan and Monaghan. A yellow weather warning is in place for the rest of the country. People are advised not to undertake any unnecessary travel.

The second I crossed into Inishowen at Muff, it began to rain, as if to corroborate the forecaster’s words. Heavy drops splattered against the windscreen and the lightweight Mini struggled on the Muff strait; it was an effort to keep her on the right side of the road. The water in the Foyle was grey-green and rough, although oddly I was glad to see it like that. Constant sunshine and blue skies were all very well, but this felt more like home.

I turned left at Quigley’s Point and headed up and inland, past the old Riverside Bar, across the bridge and along the winding mountain roads of Glentogher, lined now with dandelions. Blazing yellow gorse covered the hills on both sides and the river flowed through the glen below, first on my right and then on my left. Eventually the rain began to ease off and I could see the purple mound of Sliabh Sneacht in the distance. By the time I’d passed the small housing estates and the Beacon Hall on the outskirts of Glendara at about five o’clock, it had stopped completely. Although glancing at the sky, it was clear the hiatus was only temporary.

An undertow of anxiety tugged at my thoughts. What was ahead of me? I wondered.

In contrast to the grey rain, the town, at first glance, looked to be a blaze of color, yellows and reds, blues and pinks, like an aviary full of exotic birds. My first thought was the carnival. But no, the carnival was at Halloween. This was only April.

It was only when I drove fully onto the square that I realized that it was full of bikes and the color was Lycra. The town was packed with cyclists: checking gears, adding oil, checking tire pressure, changing wheels, wheeling their bikes around the square and cycling out the sideroads. They didn’t appear to be locals, at least none I recognized, though some were wearing helmets, so it was hard to tell. There were bikes upended in the square, being lifted from bike racks, being assembled and disassembled.